


This Sweet Season

by HarkaSun



Series: The Magic of Christmas, and Other Festive Tales [3]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood Loves Magnus Bane, Baking, Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Flour Handprints, Happy Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Fluff, Married Life, gingerbread, playful husbands, you know where it's going
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28292322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarkaSun/pseuds/HarkaSun
Summary: Alec is woken on the morning of Christmas Eve to a proposition of festive baking from his husband. Though Alec has his doubts (considering his track record of food preparation), for Magnus, he will endure it. He may even learn to enjoy it.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: The Magic of Christmas, and Other Festive Tales [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070840
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	This Sweet Season

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3/3 - feat. adventures in baking shenanigans and silly, teasing husbands!
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all!

“Alexander…”

The voice comes soft and tuneful and Alec stirs carelessly. A soft pressure on each eyelid in turn incites a grunt from absent lips and he lifts a hand to try and examine the source of the pressure. His fingertips hit something warm and it moves when a gentle chuckle hits his ears.

Eyes prising open, Alec gazes up at his husband, who sits beside him on the bed, smiling with Alec’s hand clutching his face. “Mornin’,” the shadowhunter mumbles, his voice rough with sleep as he drops his hand.

“Good morning, my love,” greets Magnus in return, leans down to kiss Alec’s brow. “I have something for you.”

Alec squints up at him. “I hope it’s coffee,” he grumbles.

His husband rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue in playful irritation. A flick of his hand brings a cloud of azure magic to Alec’s bedside table, a steaming mug appearing there when it clears. Alec hums his pleasure, pushing himself up and seizing the mug in fervent eagerness, bringing it to his lips for a long sip.

Swallowing and sighing, Alec leans into Magnus’s side. “My hero,” he purrs and Magnus lifts a hand to cradle the nape of his neck. “Sorry, mornings are—”

“They don’t agree with you, I know,” says Magnus, pouts in mock sympathy. “My poor baby shadowhunter…”

“Don’t tease me,” chides Alec, raising his head to kiss the curve of Magnus’s jaw. “Now… this surprise?”

“I never said surprise,” Magnus protests, shakes his head. “Don’t get you hopes up, Alexander.”

Pouting like a petulant child, Alec finishes his coffee and sets the mug to the bedside table. Magnus holds his hand out, an elegant offering, and Alec takes it gracefully, allowing his warlock husband to pull him from their shared bed. Magnus leads him through their loft and into the kitchen.

The stone island there is laden with ingredients, bags of flour and sugar, sticks of butter, cartons of eggs. There are pots of cinnamon and ginger and sweet gold syrup, tubes of multi-coloured icing and bowls of sprinkles and sweets. and Alec’s mouth is watering just from the sight of it. Magnus is known for his extravagant and delicious recipes and Alec is more than happy to indulge him in them all.

“Are you baking?” he asks when Magnus pulls him to a stop in front of it all. His stomach rumbles in anticipation.

Magnus casts him a sly look. “ _We_ are baking, my love.”

For a good minute, Alec can do nothing but stare at him. “ _We_ ,” he echoes. “Magnus, you, better than anyone, know my track record for making food. I am a disaster in the kitchen.” He glances away a moment. “I know you want me to be good at cooking, but I’m not. I’m no match for you when it comes to food preparation.”

“You don’t have to be good,” Magnus soothes, takes both of Alec’s hands in his own. “We can still have fun doing this together.” He smirks. “Besides, you’re the one who mentioned baking the other day. I only assumed it was because you were fond of the idea of us doing it together.”

Alec stretches his jaw in regret. “Well, I—I kinda thought maybe you could do it and I could… watch and sample?”

“Oh, no way, you are not getting out of this.”

Humming, trying to look mad but failing miserably, Alec scuffs his heel against the floor, muttering a “fine” and turning his head to the kiss that Magnus presses to his cheek. It’s worth it, for him. To see that look on his face, like he’s achieved something that truly matters to him, is everything. Alec loves to be the cause of that look.

Despite that, he does have his limits and refuses to do much more than hand things. When Magnus complains, he reminds the warlock of his failed stew attempt and pretends to be incredibly hurt by Magnus using his magic to alter it. His husband, very wisely, doesn’t buy a word of it, and gets Alec to measure out bowls of sugar and flour.

The flour bag huffs out a white cloud when Alec puts it back on the kitchen island. The shadowhunter watches it with mild interest, sticks a hand in the bag and—after a moment of not-so-careful consideration—slaps a prompt and white handprint directly on the back pocket of Magnus’s jeans.

His husband freezes, turns his head to look at Alec’s work, and narrows his eyes in mock annoyance.

“These are my second-best pair of jeans!” he fumes, grabbing his own handful of flour and tossing it at Alec’s face.

A very un-shadowhunterlike noise squeaks from Alec as he dodges aside, sticking his tongue out when Magnus huffs his amusement. It’s childish, but, Alec believes that, if he can’t be childish at Christmas, then he never can be. Magnus is giving him this look as though he’s trying to be angry, but he’s simply too fond of seeing Alec carefree.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, wanders forward to kiss Alec hard, a hand lifting to the back of his head. Alec vaguely knows that Magnus still has traces of flour on that hand, traces which are now indisputably in his hair, but it doesn’t matter. “My gorgeous, silly shadowhunter…”

“I could be sensible and dignified all the time,” Alec says, “but then who would you make fun of?”

Magnus tuts softly. “Oh, I don’t make fun of you, my darling, my everything, the one great love of my life—”

“Oh hush,” chides Alec, kisses his temple. “Don’t think flattery will soften me up. I know this is still you making fun of me.”

Breathing out sharply, Magnus gives him a sly look. “How about you soften this gingerbread dough instead? I would do it myself, but it requires hands and—” He lifts his hands to show Alec his nails, painted red and speckled with gold glitter. Alec had noticed them earlier, paid Magnus no shortage of compliments. “I wouldn’t want to ruin my nails.”

Alec narrows his eyes. “I’m all for keeping your nails pristine, but you’re really going to let me mess it up when we’re so close to being finished with them?”

“You won’t mess it up, love,” Magnus utters, leading him back to the kitchen island. “I have total faith in you.”

Alec does only as Magnus instructs, following his directions with military-grade precision. It only occurs to him after he had kneaded the dough and used a stencil to cut out little people shapes, laying them on a tray and putting them in the oven, that Magnus has gotten him to do the majority of the work. Most surprisingly, however, Alec had found himself to enjoy the baking process.

Magnus teases him all through the wait for the gingerbread to finish baking, but Alec waves it off, admits that he was wrong to fight this so much. He likes baking because Magnus likes it. It may be the only reason for him changing his mind, but that’s alright. Alec loves Magnus, and so learns to love the things that make his husband happy.

The gingerbread men are barely out of the oven before Magnus is reaching for the edible glitter, showering their biscuits in multicolour sparkles. Alec chuckles, takes one for himself before Magnus can cover them all. He sets it to the countertop, grabs a few tubes of icing and gets to work.

It takes all of his concentration and he snatches a few decorative ingredients from Magnus along the way. The warlock cries his playful protest, but doesn’t try to steal them back.

When Alec is finished, he shoves it towards Magnus, grinning like a madman.

His husband glances to it, laughs with his whole body; a sight Alec so rarely sees and so immensely cherishes. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Can you not tell?” Alec asks through a smile, pointing out some prominent features. “Spikey hair, glittery clothes, red nails, eyeliner.”

“You seem to have given me claws,” Magnus chuckles, points to the badly drawn nails—which are truly just a few lines on the stubby hands of the gingerbread Magnus. “A valiant effort, Alexander. Secretly an artist, are we?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” protests Alec.

Magnus tilts his head, smirks. “Or what?”

“Or…” Alec begins, pauses. His eyes land on his gingerbread creation and he grins, returning his gaze to his warlock husband. “Or I’ll eat you.”

A mock gasp of horror leaves Magnus’s lips and he presses a hand to his heart. “You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, I would,” says Alec, lifting the biscuit and bringing it to his lips, teasing him. “You always look good enough to eat anyway.”

Magnus huffs. “Well, if that’s the case. I’ll have to make myself a little gingerbread Alec, won’t I? See how you like it when I eat _you_!”

That tips them over the edge. The rest of the day is spent icing one another’s likeness onto the gingerbread, eating them in playful irritation as they go. When they run out, they simply make more. Magnus teaches him how to make houses and Alec reconstructs their entire loft in gingerbread form. They place little gingerbread them’s into the gingerbread loft. They eat all of that too, the entire loft and the people inside demolished by sticky, greedy hands.

Magnus groans as he collapsed into bed later that night and Alec has to concur.

“I’ve never eaten so much gingerbread in my life,” the warlock mumbles, curling up against Alec’s side when his husband slides under the duvet beside him, and wrapping his arms around his husband’s waist. His nose pushes against the shadowhunter’s chest, kissing the tail of the deflect rune. “We’ll make a baker of you yet.”

“Anything for you, my dear,” says Alec and he means it.

Magnus sighs contentedly, rolling onto his back and gazing up at the ceiling with absent and sleepy eyes. Shifting himself over, Alec allows himself to simply watch his husband. It’s such a simple thing to be able to do. Married life is the life he was meant for all this time, his is convinced of it.

Falling asleep is something Alec has never been too skilled at, but he doesn’t mind so much now that he gets to lay beside his husband and watch him succumb to slumber. Magnus falls asleep easily, beautiful in unconsciousness. His hair is dark against the silk pillows, his breaths coming slow and deep and soundless.

Alec glances idly to his alarm clock, reading the time as 12:01. He smiles, rolls to his side and wraps his husband up in his arms, nose pressing to Magnus’s temple. The warlock is warm against him, fast asleep already.

“Merry Christmas, baby…”


End file.
